


Heaven Begotten

by ShadowstarKanada



Category: Metal Gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-18
Updated: 2003-08-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowstarKanada/pseuds/ShadowstarKanada
Summary: A little flashfic written before MGS3 was released, likely based in some part off of trailers. Way too old to still be canon compliant.





	Heaven Begotten

"He's outlived his usefulness."

"You think you can get rid of him? Men like that..."

"Men like that are just men, like everyone else. You shoot them, they die. They aren't special. They aren't infallible, tragic heros. They die just like everyone else."

"Yes, sir."

If they knew he was here, they wouldn't be talking like that. It was one of the things you knew how to do when you were a spy. Listening in on conversations you weren't supposed to hear. Those important little conversations that those with rank and privilege who had never seen a real battle had.

The ones where they discussed sending you out to fight an army by yourself with little or no cover. The ones where they discussed political strategies they thought you'd have no ability to comprehend. The ones where they tried to plan your death.

But men like that didn't have the capacity to understand men like him. They didn't understand how a man could give up his name, his home, his life for a country. The name was recent, of course. He'd given it up after he'd found out about the clones. David and Goliath, they'd been called. But the home, the life... he'd decided long ago that it was important to protect it all.

And now to be betrayed by these... _accountants_ who had no concept of honor and duty to one's country...

Of course, he had the money to just leave the country. Go to Africa or Europe. He could even sign on with Russia if he wanted to. But it wasn't really what he wanted. America was his home.

It wasn't right, by God! These men would condemn him to death? And why? Because they couldn't keep their damned secrets secret from the Russians?

For men like these, he'd fought hundreds. For men like these, he had killed hundreds. To protect the happiness of men like these, he had taken his life and his family and thrown them into the wind. And now for men like these, he would have to leave his home...

No, it wasn't right. But it was his lot.

If they were going to take his destiny from him, he would carve himself a new destiny from bone and sinew. He would do it himself if he had to. He would create a garden with the blood shed by the innocents that these clerks would seek to destroy.

He still had the plans he'd stolen. They were incomplete, but he knew a scientist. Another one who, if he were found alive, would likely be killed by this new land of artists and politicians who had forgotten their roots of hard science and military conquest. Yes. Emmerich would help him to complete the plans, to create a new world...

It would need funding, his utopia. And a location. The location could be commandeered, but he knew from experience that governments were unlikely to give in to demands for money.

He was a hero though, a god damned hero! And a hero had followers wherever he went. He could mold those followers into soldiers. He could create his own army of mercenaries. He would not fight against the United States, but there was enough insurrection around the world to earn... enough to sustain an army, enough to create a base, and from there, a country.

And he would be the trainer, the commander, the god forsaken king of his kind! And when he was ready, he would bring his kingdom back to his homeland. Back to America.

And _by God_ they would know it! They would know who he was, this nameless man they wanted to kill!

He had given his name up for them. He wouldn't let that mistake lie. He would make a new name for himself. He would take his progeny from this government and establish a legacy for himself.

One where men like him were valued. Where they never had to hear that their government planned to betray them on the next mission while sitting in a shadow in the best bar in the city. A world where the true worth of a man could be tested.

A land of outcasts, a new Eden for the forgotten men and women of war. And once Eden was realized, he would make the rest of the world right: it would be a Zion to the people he led.

These men would take lives with such ease? Sitting around drinking martinis, they would decide he should die? No. Zion and Eden were places for the living.

He would create _Heaven_! And he would _be God_.

His eyes darted to the conference of commanders in chief, whites shining brightly in the darkness with the inner fire of conviction. These men would be remembered, and in the darkest reaches of the night, they would be struck down.

He would have his Heaven, and they would find their Hell.

It was time to clear out the accounts they had in his name, before these men left this place and closed them. Once he was done, he would build a dream that not one of these men would live to see.

The man with no name stood and walked out of the bar and into the burning night.


End file.
